


Coward

by JulyStorms



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wishes she'd gone with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coward

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Chapter 81. References made to RPs I did with Cello, specifically [Hands](http://hitchisms.tumblr.com/tagged/thread%3B-hands/chrono), which takes place during the cleanup of Stohess following the Female Titan vs. Rogue Titan battle, and [Correspondence](http://hitchisms.tumblr.com/tagged/thread%3B-correspondence/chrono), which takes place after Marlowe transfers to the Survey Corps, but before the Survey Corps leaves for Shiganshina. These RPs are not necessary to read beforehand, but might add more to the experience.

Hitch wakes up with a start, mind so full of the chaos of battle that she feels trapped in her own bed. She rips back the curtain, heart pounding in time with the signal flares that still ring in her ears, but the early dawn light isn’t enough to chase away her dream. It feels so real that she has to check her fingers to see if they’re covered in blood.

They’re not, but she scrambles down the ladder anyway, foot catching on the last step. She crashes to the floor, but jumps up again, heart in her throat.

 _Calm down_ , she tells herself, _calm down. It was just—_

 _A dream_ , she wants to think, but her knees feel twitchy and her head is full of titans. Before she knows what she’s doing she’s walking an old, familiar path into and through the men’s barracks. The third door on the left from the end of the hall hasn’t changed. She stands there for a long time, pulse hammering like a hundred hooves in her skull, but finally wipes her sweaty palm on the skirt of her long nightgown and turns the handle, pushing into Marlowe’s room.

 _It wasn’t just a dream_ , she thinks, and swallows hard, feet carrying her to the empty desk in the corner. A month ago it was covered: in letters to and from home, in books, in odds and ends. The bureau is equally barren, now; when she opens the top drawer, it feels wrong that there is no pocketwatch resting there atop neatly folded socks.

The bottom bunk isn’t made up neatly enough to adhere to Marlowe’s standards, and when she falls into it, face pressed into his pillow, it doesn’t smell like him anymore. The realization makes her recoil, forces her off the mattress and onto the hardwood floor, fingers trembling so hard that she has to clench her hands tight to make it stop.

If she didn’t know better she’d think Marlowe had never even existed—a cruel figment of her imagination, one that preyed on loneliness and confusion and the sad, desperate need to feel wanted instead of merely tolerated.

But she remembers his smile and how his bed sagged in the middle when they both sat on it to read together in the evenings. She remembers the exact look on his face when he talked to her about his grandparents and how it felt to have his fingers run gently over the palm of her hand as he teased her deadpan about her having a long life-line.

She can almost imagine it now if she thinks hard enough, if she pulls the memory forward of the two of them sitting on his bed together, one of her hands held in both of his, her knees bumping against the side of his leg.

But it’s already fading along with the others—with the sound of his voice and the way he’d written to her to apologize for everything—

And what’s filling her mind now is her dream of his inglorious death.

She doesn’t know what she expected: to find him here, maybe, to see for herself that her dream was a dream, that her fears were unfounded, that she was, in the end, enough of a reason for him to stay.

But Hitch has never been the delusional sort.

Last night the Survey Corps left to Shiganshina to find answers and save humanity, and by now—

By now he could be dead—or worse: dying, gasping out his last breaths in some godforsaken place alone and frightened, despite himself.

She curls into herself, knees tucked up under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs like it’ll keep the chill out. _It’s just a dream_ , she can’t quite tell herself because her heart is still pressing up into her throat. It was too real to be a dream, right?

The finality of it all settles in her stomach like a sharp stone.

There will be no more pre-dawn patrols with Marlowe, no more sharing of books and smiles, no little moments that make her stomach tremble or her heart soar.

And for just a little while—as long as it takes to blink away tears—she wishes she’d gone with him.

Even unto death.

Because isn’t that what people do when they love someone so much they can’t imagine a life without them?


End file.
